Owner	Pose
Zatanna Zatara	Faerie remains a mystery to the Mage. It bothered her for many months after her first visit, being the daughter of a long line of philosopher/mystics that delved into the unknown for knowledge. But that knowledge which could potentially light the world also could plunge it into chaos and darkness. Not many in her lineage fell into the temptation of using their hard gotten knowledge for mastery of the realms they explored. No, if Zatanna seeks mastery it is only of herself. The tangle of magic which is faerie would not be hers to understand or master. And perhaps because of that, she possesses a key to that realm. She had closed her eyes in her bedroom then opened them on the shore of a placid lake of an impossible blue. A blue that shimmered along its edges and plunged deeper to icy depths. In the distance, the snowcapped teeth of high mountains gleam under stars brilliant as cut diamonds. Part of visiting faerie is acceptance. She doesn't question why she walks along that starlit shore.
Meggan Constantine	Faerie, the myriad realms of the Otherworld, defy simple description. They vary wildly, diverse in character, colour and content, just as a library contains more than a single type of book or author. Some reflect human character and cultivation, whereas others are almost incomprehensible mashups of culture that amount to nothing familiar except the broadest sweeps. These are unusual touchstones, particularly crude. Springtime's growth may be reflected in many, if not all. The lime green leaves, the vivid emerald grass, the tender jade shoots all embody a spirit of growth on Earth. In the near realms, it may be the same. Blue serrated ridges and ultramarine skies may be Zatanna's dream, but where Meggan sleeps snuggled up on a pillow, it's to a tune of flowers. Several of them in a circle, in fact, melting away the snow that has no hope of reaching her. The air around her is stubbornly warm where she is not. Why she makes a pillow of her arm is one thing, why she's sleeping in the middle of proverbially nowhere is another.
Zatanna Zatara	Looking inland, Zatanna spies a copse of trees rising over a tapestry of richly colored flowers lit from some unknown source. Without thought her feet turn away from the shore toward the light. The distance melts away and the mage walks under the tall trees burgeoning with new leaf, adorned by brilliant stars. She looks down at her bare feet peeking from underneath her long white gown, puzzled at not being cold. When she glances up, she is standing on the edge of a glade lit by Meggan's slumbering form - the source of light.
Meggan Constantine	Elegant soaring peaks trimmed in snow offer a breathless height for the occasional bird to traverse, sweeping noiselessly on the currents to wheel in great gyres. From afar, those creatures scarcely warrant notice, though their wingspans alone would deter casual hunters from lifting a bow or taking aim. They might just take cover. Nearer at hand, the water casts off a clear, pure note that contrasts the bite of wet rock and cutting clarity brought by the occasional breeze that threads through the lower forests that skirt the mountain flanks. Zatanna here might find her path obstructed by the occasional benign sleeping fae and several roots poking out from the sparse groundcover, the plants thickening into bushes in spots. Few blossoms, save those able to cling to the warmth and borrowed light of a soundly sleeping Tuath de Danaan. A bit of somewhat thorough prodding might be necessary to convince her to awaken; a consequence of just being so tired. Misplaced? The flowers all turn to the homo magi bound inward.
Zatanna Zatara	In the dark, beyond the lit glade a pair of wings stirs the night air. Head tilted to listen, Zee doesn't see the flowers turn to gaze at her. When she looks back at Meggan, surprise widens her deep blue eyes and she bends at the waist to peer at the closest flower, turned to her like she was the sun. Careful to not trod on flower she approaches the Queen of the Realm, then crouches, her diaphanous gown flowing around her as she reaches out to gently touch her shoulder. Almost her fingertips brush the slumbering woman then hover, "Meggan," she whispers. Magic embedded deeply in each syllable.
Meggan Constantine	The nodding blossoms offer no threat; they simply exist. Meggan, it could be said, is fairly the same. Her jaw cracks in a yawn that announces her awakening from a roughshod path of slumber, Zatanna's thoughtful prod stirring her from making a bed out of rocks and soil, a thin lace of fallen leaves the only cushions to be had. Several of those broken leaves from seasons past stick to her hair as she arises. "Mrr? Wot now?" Elegant, that. Sleeping Beauty more likely to roll over and fall out of her bed, or trip on a slipper and tumble in a sprawl of arms and yelping. "How-- the house? I didn't leave the window open." Confusion all around settles in to looking about, then up at the woman in the slender gown agleam in its hoarfrost splendour, eclipsed by the sorcerer herself. "Zee. Oh. G'morning, if it's quite morning."
Zatanna Zatara	A bright smile lights Zee's face. "Hardly morning yet. We both might be sharing a waking dream, my friend." She looks around the glade, her gaze returning to Meggan. "I needed rest and Magic knew better than I where I would find it. This has been a long winter and I can't think of a better place than here to remember warmth."
Meggan Constantine	The blonde blinks again, and then reaches up to extricate a bit of a twig from her hair. "One of those dreams, is it? I never get to wear fancy armour or ride an elk in them." The glamour of running over people on dainty hooves shall be entirely the province of those more fortunate than the Tuath, amusing though it is. Dangerous tidings, there. Her follow-up yawn hidden behind her hand at least shows some modicum of manners. Then she grins. "Far too sunny for someone in need of sleep. Has it been that rough? I ought to have John boot whatever's caused that.."
Zatanna Zatara	Laughter shakes her shoulders as Zee runs her fingers through her dark hair, brushing it back from her face. "If only it were that simple. We could have used his boot many times over." The grin fades and she sighs remembering why Magic sent her here. "I've no right to complain. Many people lost their lives before Thor returned."